


i wanna sleep next to you (and that's all i wanna do right now)

by popoyoy11



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, M/M, Might be a bit ooc, Not Canon Compliant, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-New 52, Slash, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 12:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8624845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popoyoy11/pseuds/popoyoy11
Summary: “Anyway,” he says, cutting Tim off. His expression turns serious. “Jason is back in town.” The air in the room visibly changes as Tim’s shoulders tense, his body telling him to defend himself just by hearing Jason’s name. He swallows audibly, “Oh?”“Yeah.” “Since when?”“Last week,” Dick replies, watching him carefully.Tim takes another sip of his coffee and nods. “Okay.”Another Soulmate AU that nobody really needed.





	1. only fools fall for you

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Guess who's going stir-crazy in med school! Me! I've had this just sitting there in my laptop for a while now and I wasn't going to finish it because it seemed impossible to and it's crap. But I'm feeling impulsive tonight so what the hell. Originally written for Jaytimweek 2016.
> 
> (and yes the titles are all from Troye Sivan's songs)

Tim first feels it when he’s a few hundred feet in the air.

A slight twinge on his side, something that slithers from his waist and up, _up_ to his left shoulder. It’s not anywhere strong enough to make him pass out, but it does force a gasp out of him and he falters midair. He doesn’t fall or lose his aim, but it’s a close thing and he ends up stumbling onto the nearest flat surface.

Tim quickly rights himself and frowns. He hasn’t stumbled into a landing in _years_.

He winces when he feels it again. He pats his body down with a practiced hand. Nothing feels broken or bruised. Nothing hurts when he presses. Then what—he tenses when it comes back.

He walks around the rooftop until he finds a secluded corner and he folds himself down. Sitting up with his back straight and his legs tucked underneath his body. Tim takes a deep breath, trying to regulate his breathing and ignore the pain.

Mentally, he ticks off the number of major injuries that he has sustained over the years. He pushes back the thought that says people his age isn’t even supposed to have a list of serious injuries.

” _Red Robin, are you there?”_

Oracle’s voice in his ear startles him out of his not-quite-meditation, Tim blinks. “Yes, O. Still here.”

_“There’s a robbery happening two blocks from where you are, can you get on it?”_

Tim hums, “On my way.” He exhales loudly; the—the _thing_ (for lack of better words) has subsided into a dull ache by the time he gets on his feet.

He has a city to save, so he dismisses the thing and doesn’t think about it again.

For another week and a half, at least.

-

Tim knows about the soulmarks.

Everybody knows about the soulmarks.

They’re these little tattoo-like things on certain parts of your body that show up the moment you hit seventeen. They’re different for every pair, some have one, and some have more than one. Some have none at all.

Nobody has ever figured out the exact science behind these soulmarks. All they know is that if you have a tattoo, then another person in the world is bound to have the exact same replica of yours. 

Like their name, soulmarks, they’re supposed to signify your soulmate. It’s mostly romantic, as people like to say, _it means you have a higher connection with the other person_.

Tim doesn’t really think much about the soulmarks. For one thing, his parents’ soulmarks didn’t match. (Deep down he wonders if that’s why they were always so distant with each other, but he dismisses it, pockets that thought in the back of his mind for another time, when his life isn’t a train ride doomed to crash.)

Besides, between chasing a dead man’s shadow and spiraling down, down, _down_ , he didn’t have time to pay attention to his soulmark when it showed up.

-

A week later, Tim finds Dick sprawled on his couch when he comes back from patrol.

“Hey, Timmy,” he calls out from his upside down position from the couch, legs dangling from the back of it, Tim’s PS4 controller in his hands.

Tim manages to mumble out an incoherent reply before entering his bedroom in full uniform, emerging fifteen minutes later showered and in comfortable clothing.

“There’s some sandwich in the kitchen that Alfred made for you,” Dick says, doing a flip that mostly ends him up in the upright position, mostly. “Also, I made coffee.”

Tim looks at Dick suspiciously. But he goes to the kitchen anyway, where—to his surprise—he indeed finds a full pot of the _good_ coffee that Bruce usually drinks and a tupperware of sandwich. He eyes them both as Dick bounces in from the living room and pushes the food in his direction. He fills two mugs and slides one to Tim, all the while smiling with that certain smile that Tim has associated with summer family bonding camps and overbearing big brother roles.

“This is a bribe isn’t it?” Tim starts, tentatively picking up a sandwich and taking a bite, instantly the taste of mustard and pastrami floods his mouth.

Damn, these were quality Alfred goods.

“What illegal activity do you want me to help you with?”

Dick has the nerve to look horrified. Tim raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“I don’t want any favors from you, Timbo! Can’t I just drop by once in a while to see how my favorite little brother is doing?”

Tim almost snorts at that but refrains himself from doing so. _Damian_ is his favorite little brother (and he definitely does not think that bitterly). He shakes his head instead, leaning forward on his elbows. “Okay, I’ll rephrase that. What illegal activity have you done that you wanted me to cover up for you?”

“Nothing! I just missed you, and thought I’d come visit.” Dick grins. “Alfred misses you too. I get the whole ‘emancipated minor’ thing, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come and play once in a while, right?” he asks; all doe eyes and pouty lips that shouldn’t work on him, considering his age.

Tim squints at him, jabbing the sandwich at Dick’s direction. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.” He sips his coffee. “Seriously, Dick, what is it? You’re playing the Alfred card and it’s starting to creep me out.”

Dick lets out a defeated sigh and slumps onto the kitchen counter. “Fine, I really was checking up on you to see whether you’re still alive or not.”

Tim pulls on a straight face. “Gee, it’s good to know you have such confidence in my survival skills,” he deadpans.

“Oh, Timmers, I trust your skills.” Dick waves a hand in the air. “It’s your tendency to attract ninja assassins that worries me.”

Tim is offended, “I do not—“

“Anyway,” he says, cutting Tim off. His expression turns serious. “Jason is back in town.”

The air in the room visibly changes as Tim’s shoulders tense, his body telling him to defend himself just by hearing Jason’s _name_.

He swallows audibly, “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Last week,” Dick replies, watching him carefully.

Tim takes another sip of his coffee and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. “Thanks for telling me. Don’t worry, Dick. I’ll be fine.” Tim tries for a reassuring smile and succeeds, if the lowering tension in the room says anything.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back home? Or at least stay with me in ‘Haven, it’ll be safer there.” Dick looks at him hopefully.

“Sorry, Dick.” Tim shakes his head. “I’ll drop by later this week, okay? I promise.”

-

The pain doesn’t come back for another week.

Instead, in that week, Tim gets a constant sense of restlessness. It feels like something is crawling underneath his skin, urging him to get up and _move and go._ But _where? Why?_

To say that it bothers him is an overstatement. It does, however, mess with his senses, renders him unable to sleep (well more than usual anyway). He’s antsier than usual, jumpier. It wasn’t noticeable but he couldn’t shake the feeling off. He tests his blood for every known toxin in Gotham, just to be safe, and gets no positive result.

The restlessness stays until it goes.

It’s replaced by the pain that comes back when he’s hanging out on a rooftop with Nightwing. Red Hood passes, stays a split second on their roof, tilts his head in acknowledgement before going airborne again and at the same time, the _thing_ slithers back, with more force than before. Crawling up his arm, his elbow, his shoulder. Spreads throughout his whole body then finally giving a hard _thump_ just above his heart, before fading out to a throb that beats along his pulse.

It makes him _sway_ and _almost fall_ on his feet.

Nightwing grabs his arm immediately, and then Tim’s shoulders are in his hands as he gazes into the whites of his mask.

“Red Robin? You okay?” Nightwing asks; voice urgent. Tim can imagine Dick’s eyes underneath the domino. The worry in them would match his frown and the downward pull of his mouth.

Tim stares at the spot where Red Hood was seconds ago in a daze, a thought itching at his brain.

“I’m fine.”

-

“What does it feel like, ‘meeting’ your soulmate?”

They were in the batcave, Tim was supposed to be reading, his book laid abandoned on the desk of the batcomputer behind him. He turned the swivel chair around to face Dick on the practice range.

Dick hummed, twirling an escrima stick with his hand. “It’s really hard to describe,” he answered, hurling the stick at a target practice. “It’s like somebody lifted the blinds and opened the windows after you’re trapped inside a dark, stuffy room all your life,” he continued.

“So basically… Sunlight?” Tim asked.

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, head tilted to the side, thinking. “Ehh, not really,” he said after a while. “It’s more like—” Dick trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. The double robins tattoo on his forearm seeming to flutter with the motion. Tim’s always thought that they were pretty; Dick and Babs’ soulmarks. They were in full color, a trait not a lot of people have. One is a bright electric blue and the other a fiery sort of orange that seemed red at first glance.

When Dick moved his arm, it looked like they were flying.

 “—knowing,” Dick’s smile turned soft at the word. Tim was filled with a sudden sense that he was intruding something, which was ridiculous, considering that Babs wasn’t even there to begin with.

“Why do you ask, Timmy?” Dick walked up to him grinning. “You’re not even seventeen yet. Starting up early?” he spinned the chair until Tim faced the batcomputer again.

Tim smiled. “No reason.”

-

Later that night, as Tim is taking off his tunic he does a double take.

“What the hell,” Tim curses out loud to the empty apartment. He stares at the floor length mirror in front of him.

His soulmark— _changed_.

Tim’s soulmark is—was—a single Nordic rune carved just above his heart. Now it’s—it’s—

A noise from his apartment snaps him into attention. Tim doesn’t even bother with redressing; he grabs a disc from his belt where it’s fallen to the floor and presses his ear to the bathroom door. When he hears another noise—footsteps—he throws it open, stance and aim ready.

He freezes before he throws the disc. “Cass?” He calls to the familiar outline in his living room, currently making herself comfortable on his furniture.

Tim can feel her smile even in the darkness. “Tim.” Cassandra’s strangled voice floats into his ear. He relaxes, lowering the weapon in his hand and stepping out of the bathroom.

“What did I tell you about breaking into my house?” he sighs, reaching for the light switch and flipping them on.

“Not to.” Cass replies, waving her hand, Tim can see the back of her head on the couch. She got a new haircut.

“But you do it anyway.” Tim mutters, going to the kitchen to make coffee.

“Dick does it. Smells like him in here.” He can hear the slight distaste in her voice, she’s always hated the cologne Dick likes to wear.

Tim returns to the living room with two steaming mugs. One of them charcoal black without any trace of sugar or cream in it, he kind of hates (not really) that she has him trained so well.

“I don’t know how you guys keep getting past my security system,” he whines, shoving her feet off the table to make room for the mugs.

Cass turns on the TV with the remote. “Lie. You leave an opening for us on purpose,” she chirps happily.

 “Us?”

“Bats and birds.” She states, putting her feet back up on the coffee table and turns to him. Her expression closes off exceptionally quickly (even if it doesn’t change much considering it’s _Cass_ , but Tim knows her well enough to know the meaning behind the subtle shifts on her face), changing from _Cass_ to _Black Bat_ in a split second.

“Tim.”

Suddenly his left arm is twisted away from his body; long, deft fingers trace the left side of his torso. Tim definitely doesn’t squeak in surprise.

Definitely.

“What is this?” Cass inquires. At that moment, Tim feels for the villains she interrogates.

Tim clears his throat. “I uh, don’t know, showed up just now.”

“Hm.”

He can feel Cass’s eyes on his newly acquired tattoo. It must have been quite a sight. His old soulmark is surrounded by an aperture, from which swirls of blank ink reach out. Curling across most of his left torso in intricate patterns; intertwining and breaking apart in intervals. It makes him think of water, or smoke.

After she’s done examining it, Cass lets go of his arm. Tim lets out a relieved breath.

“What happened?” she asks; black eyes on his. Her hand goes to her left shoulder, where her soulmark—a picture of two blades crossed together—is.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” Tim starts, fidgeting with his mug. “Last week there was this—pain? I guess. It ran all the way here.” he indicates to the left side of his body. “And earlier. Jason showed up and it um. Came back?” It sounds more like a question than a statement. “And then when I got home, this showed up.”

Cass frowns, staring at him hard. “Jason?”

Tim suddenly finds the frayed edges of his couch (his old one from his old home, he doesn’t know why but he’s never been able to replace it) very interesting. “Yeah, he’s back in town. Sorta. Nobody’s actually heard or seen him.”

She nods and hums, and Tim watches as she strings together theories in her head, lips pursed, brows pulled together in concentration.

He doesn’t know how but he always seems to know when she _gets_ stuff.

“What?”

“What?” she returns.

“You know what I mean, sis. You have that whole ‘I am Cassandra Cain therefor I know _things_ ’ look going on.”

Cass smiles at him sympathetically. Tim gapes.

“It’s okay, little brother.” She says, patting his cheek affectionately. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Uh, okay?” He’s only a lot worried and very unsure of her words so he does what he always does when it comes to Cass.

Just roll with it.

Tim’s learned over the years, that it’s best to just let her do her thing. It’ll end up either spectacularly bad or spectacular. Either way, they’re going to learn a lesson out of said thing and usually a hella amount of punching bad guys so yes. He rolls with it.

He takes in the crumpled state of Cass’s clothing. She’s wearing her traveling clothes and for the first time he notices the overnight bag resting on the floor. “Did you go here right after you landed? Wait, did you even get here on a plane?”

“Yes and yes.” She picks at her nails. They’re covered in purple nail polish. It looks good on her, kind of makes him think of Steph though, she would want to know Cass is back in town. Which reminds him, he hasn’t talked to Steph in ages. Cass waggles her fingers at him, effectively snapping him out of his trance and grins. “Now go shower. You stink and it’s catch up time for former batgirls and robins.”

-

In his defense, Tim didn’t mean to get stuck in the middle of a gun fight.

The drug bust was going so well. Too well, in fact, that Tim should have known that an average drug lord couldn’t have come up with this complicated of a plan.

Of course it was professional; of course it was one of Penguin’s operations.

What started as a simple stake-out-and-bust is really turning into a bloodbath. Honestly, Tim didn’t mean to cause this. But here he is anyway, bo staff whizzing in the air around him as he takes down three men twice his size. There’s a lot more from where that came from and well, it’s not like Tim had any plans that night in the first place, looks like he’s going to be stuck there for a while.

_“Red Robin, what’s your status?”_

“A little busy right now, O.” Somebody whips out a gun; Tim breaks his hand and kicks him in the stomach. He should’ve gone down to Little Jakarta to do recon on that gun smuggling ring. If he cleans up fast here he might just get there in time. He was always a sucker for multitasking. “Could use some help, though.”

_“I’m sending someone to you, ETA 2 minutes.”_

Two minutes later, the heavy sound of boots meeting gravel enters his hearing. From his periphery, Tim sees a figure in leather and a _red helmet_ touches down next to him.

Tim doesn’t even know what’s happening until he’s doubling over, the pain on his side coming back by the triple. From the edges of his vision, he sees Red Hood (who tried to kill Tim, tried to fuck him over and under so many times—) falter in his step. Then as quick as it came, Hood readjusts himself and shoots two people in the knee.

“Fucking hell, Replacement, get yourself together!” Jason shouts at him, shoving him aside right before a bullet grazes his arm.

That snaps Tim back to attention. He growls, “I don’t need your help, Hood.”

“Yeah, because you were doing so fine before I got here.” Tim can feel the eye roll even if he can’t see Jason’s face.

As if to proof his words, two of the goons decide to attack from behind Tim and Jason guns them down.

“I can take care of myself,” Tim hisses.

He can almost hear a sigh from underneath the helmet. “Yes, the world knows the mighty Red Robin can defeat big, scary men all by himself. Just let me help, okay kid? This is a favor for a friend.”

Tim bares his teeth at him but doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t want Jason to help him but the asshole actually seems sincere this time. Maybe he was getting better, maybe.

But still, for good measure.

“If you try anything funny, Hood, I swear to God—“

“Yeah, yeah, been there done that, don’t worry, kid. Not interested in your pretty little neck anymore.”

Tim grinds his teeth together. “No killing,”

Jason clucks his tongue, “Aww, take the fun out of my life why don’t you.”

As they take armed man after armed man down, Tim discovers that they actually fight well together. They shouldn’t work this fluidly with each other but somehow they do. With Tim barking out orders in half-finished sentences that Jason somehow _gets_ and _does_. Together they’re sharp. Efficient. Deadly. Powerful.

It almost feels like fighting with Bruce, or the Titans. But both of those have had years of fighting by Tim’s side to know and adjust to his style. Tim and Jason never fought together. Against each other, plenty. Tim’s watched enough footage of Jason’s Robin days to know how he fights. Tim bets that Jason’s watched his too.

They know _how_ each other _fight_ , but not this _well_.

It’s almost as if they had some sort of empathic link, as if they were—

Tim doesn’t finish that thought and opts to lodge a disc between one of the goons’ eyes instead.

When it’s all over and they’ve managed to zip tie everyone, Tim is surprised that Jason really didn’t kill anyone.

Said man takes off his helmet, revealing the red domino underneath, and runs a gloved hand over his damp hair. He grins, all teeth and _red_. Tim suddenly remembers the cold feeling of a batarang in his chest.

“I gotta say, that was one hell of a fight, Replacement,” he says, kicking one of the thugs lightly with his boot. The thug winces and groans.

“I gotta say,” Tim mirrors his tone, “I’m surprised you didn’t kill anyone.”

The smile instantly vanishes from Jason’s face, his expression darkens. He clicks his helmet back in place and retrieves a knife from the ground, putting it somewhere on his person.

“Like I said, favor for a friend. You can forget this ever happening again.” His grapple gun is already out and with a blur he was gone.

Tim once again stares at the spot where Red Hood was seconds ago in a slight daze. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mutters to himself.

-

“Kid, if you’re going to do the whole ‘surprising people by appearing from the dark’ thing, you can forget it.”

Tim steps out of the corner of the room, pulling back his cowl from his face. He walks towards the flashing banks of computers and monitors and the woman manning them all.

“Hey, Babs,” he greets, hopping onto one of the empty tables. Babs turns to him, red hair flaming around her like a sun goddess. She takes off her glasses and stares at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Tim shrugs, handing her a cup of steaming latte that he picked up from her favorite café. She eyes it suspiciously but accepts it, letting out a content hum at her first sip. It’s an offering of some sorts. You have to have one when you’re visiting Babs in her nest.

Tim plays with the edge of his cape. He’d been in two minds about confronting the former batgirl. It didn’t seem likely that Babs would do something like getting Jason to help him. Then again, weirder things have happened.

“Why did you send him my way?” he replies.

Babs sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She seems tired, Tim should bring her more gifts. He wonders idly if Dick has been going on off-world missions without telling her again. He should do something about that.

“Cass told me,” she says.

Tim tilts his head. “Told you what?”

“About your soulmark.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Look, Tim—“

Tim holds up his hand. “As much as I appreciate the meaning behind the gesture, Babs, please don’t send _the guy who tried to kill me_ to help me.”

“But he’s your _soulmate_ Tim, it’s different now.” She frowns. “He’s changed. He really has. He’s been reaching out to _me_ and Alfred and—”

“First of all,” Tim starts, “I don’t necessarily _care_ what some random markings on my body _might_ mean. Second of all, we don’t know that he’s my _soulmate_ ,” he continues, emphasizing the last word. “Third and last, I don’t really care if he’s changed or not. _He tried to kill me._ Also, I know for a fact that he doesn’t want anything to do with me and the feeling is mutual,” he finishes.

Babs looks at him, eyes slowly widening. “Oh, _Tim_.”

Tim recognizes that tone very well. It’s usually followed with something like _you poor little boy_ or _didn’t anyone ever did this with you when you were little?_ Tim doesn’t need that right now so he puts his cowl back on quickly, desperate to get out of the room.

“Please don’t tell Dick, or Bruce, or anyone, actually,” he pleads, one foot already out of the window.

Babs’ lips are pressed in a thin line but she nods. Tim sighs in relief, he could always trust her to keep a secret.

“Thanks, Babs.” Without waiting for her reply he scales down the building and hits the streets.

Tonight is going to be a long one.

-

It gets worse.

Tim starts having _dreams_.

They’re not nightmares (Tim has had his fair share of those), they’re—different.

He dreams of hands and mouths and eyes that are more teal than blue.

He dreams of touches, ghosting along his body, light as a feather, coaxing and teasing and eager. Sometimes they’re hard enough to bruise; leave marks all over him in purples and yellows. He dreams of a voice, of whispered words trickling down his spine like honey _._ He dreams of kisses on his neck, on his thighs, on his lips, hungry and dirty and biting and _devouring_. He dreams of a heat above him, searing and consuming and _scorching._

More often than not he wakes up rock hard, shivering, gasping, _wanting_. Reaching out for a person that isn’t even there.

Tim can feel it when he’s awake too, the desire that rests under his skin, humming and buzzing; impatient.

It begs him to go where Jason is.

To look, to see, _to touch._

He doesn’t. Tim is smart, he can think of a dozen different ways things can go wrong. Between him and Jason, it can probably take the whole world out.

So Tim stays put, keeps himself busy with work and the Titans, and tries to believe that there is no possibility in the entire multiverse that Jason might be his soulmate.

-

Tim knows he has to do something.

He has all the clues in his hands and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that his soulmark _changing_ and Jason being in town are two connected events. The thought jars him, unsettles him whenever it filters across his brain. He doesn’t think soulmates are supposed to try to kill each other.

He’s read everything he could get his hands on about soulmarks, they don’t really help. All the stories and reports he read always describe two people with matching soulmarks to be _completely and utterly in love with each other at the end_. Tim cringes at the thought. In love with Jason Todd? He’ll probably die first. They also never mention pains upon first seeing your soulmate, or expanding soulmarks.

Tim is confused. He considers going to Bruce about it, but knowing the older man he’s only going to make things a lot more complicated with his misplaced man pain.

So he plans, as meticulously and as detailed as possible. There are two things he could do, offense or defense. He could seek Jason out and talk things through with him, or he could ignore it for the rest of his life. Tim sighs, that’s not a very good plan. He doesn’t want to talk about it or even _acknowledge_ it. But on the other hand, talking about it might clear up some things. They might come up with an agreement to stay out of each other’s spaces as much as they could if they were going to cause each other pain every time they see each other. It doesn’t seem that Jason is leaving soon either, if the data Babs has so generously let him hack out of her system say anything.

Turns out the decision is snatched out of his hands when he finds a Star Trek book on his doorstep after patrol. Inside is a white card decorated with a neat cursive.

_Tim,_

_Tuesday. 0100._

_Where the Indian meets the Pacific. Tallest building._

_Dress sharp. Don’t be late._

Tim stares at it for a full five seconds before putting it in his pocket.

He needs to make some calls.

-

Tim finds Jason lounging on the rooftop of the tallest building in Little Jakarta two days later. The man is wearing his usual leather jacket sans the red helmet, opting for the small red domino instead. He hasn’t changed much from their most recent meeting; the shock of white hair is still there.

He has his back to Tim, arms crossed. His shoulders are relaxed, stance loose.

“You came, huh,” Jason starts, still not looking at him. His voice still has that husky tinge to it. Suddenly _yearning_ floods through Tim’s chest like a dam breaking, unwanted and unwelcomed. It’s followed by a pang of disgust and the sharp, tangy taste of fear colors his throat. He shoves the feeling down with the force of a Kryptonian.

“In full battle gear, no less. Good thinking, Replacement,” Jason chuckles, uncrossing his arms and shoving them in his pockets, he turns to Tim.

Jason isn’t wearing any armor underneath his leather jacket. Just a ratty print t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks at himself and then at Jason, wonders warily if this is a tactic to gain his trust. Tim shrugs. “You told me to dress sharp.”

“I did, didn’t I,” he says. There’s a strange tone to his voice but Tim can’t pinpoint what it is.

It almost sounded like he was _amused_.

“Look, we both know what we’re here to talk about. Get on with it,” Tim urges. All the while Jason’s standing there it stirs something in Tim that he really doesn’t want to think about.

His relationship with Jason has always been difficult. There was a time when he wanted to impress Jason. Wanted to impress the boy in the red, green and gold who could _fly_. Thought about showing him his pictures, maybe.

Then he was gone and Tim found himself missing a person he had never even _met_.

Trying to live up to his name wasn’t easy.

Trying not to _end up_ like him was even harder.

Jason shifts, inclining his head to the right. “When you call off that scary sister of yours, we’ll start talking.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “When you call off that redhead archer of yours, I’ll call her off,” he replies.

Jason stares at him for what feels like forever. Tim doesn’t flinch.

“Alright, fair enough,” Jason finally huffs, spreads his hands. “Here’s the deal. God, the universe, the multiverse, whoever it is you want to blame, made a fucking glitch. Now we have two goddamn matching _soulmarks_ on our bodies.”

Tim eyes him skeptically. “How do you know they match?”

Jason shoves his shirt up momentarily; it barely reveals his stomach but Tim’s seen enough. He’s too familiar with the swirling design not to recognize parts of it. Doesn’t matter if it’s on another person’s body. He inspects it every night; it’s expanded until it covered the entirety of Tim’s left torso.

It looks ridiculously attractive on Jason’s muscles. Tim wonders what it means that Jason’s soulmark is on his right instead of his left. Tim can imagine the rest of it decorating his pecs, or the lines of his abs, and his _chest, Jesus Christ._ Tim inwardly recoils from his thoughts, frowns.

 _Stop_.

He nods curtly. “Alright.”

“Yeah,” Jason huffs, “so, what are we going to do about it?”

“We?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Pret—Red,” he says, “but you’re not the only one suffering whenever we as much lay eyes on each other here. It’s like a goddamn bad romance novel or something,” Jason adds.

“Or something,” Tim echoes. “We’re not hurting now, though,” he offers.

Jason stops and blinks. “Huh. Well wonders of wonders.”

Tim licks his lips; he doesn’t miss the way Jason follows the motion. “I have a theory about that, actually,” he starts, “the um. Tattoo wasn’t complete. It is now, that’s why it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Jason nods. “Makes sense.”

“But if you’re asking if I want to do something _because_ we have matching soulmarks then the answer is no.”

There's a pregnant pause before Jason says anything. “Understandable.”

Tim swallows around a lump in his throat. “I think we should just keep out of each other’s way. Like before.”

Jason laughs, something angry and bitter biting at the edge of it. Tim doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to. “So basically, you want me to pretend we don’t match,” he retorts.

“It’s for the best, Jay. We _don’t_ match.”

Not in the way that matters to Tim, anyway.

Jason shakes his head. “Y’know, I thought this soulmark could be my redemption.” Jason’s tone turns wistful as he goes, mouth pulling down. “Now it’s just the universe fucking me up all over again,” he sighs. “Out of all the people in this world, it had to be you, didn’t it?”

Tim shrugs, he tries to dismiss the way Jason’s words stung him like daggers.

 _He betrayed you._ Tim tries to remind himself. _Used you. Wanted to kill you._

_Yeah, but he asked you to be his first, remember?_

Tim frowns at the memory.

_Be my robin._

The words ring clear in his head as if it just happened yesterday.

_No._

No.

Tim takes a deep breath, one hand clenching around his bo staff. “I personally don’t like the idea that a higher power controls what I can and can’t do. Who I can and can’t love,” he states. “I thought that out of all the people in the world, you’d understand a thing or two about making your own destiny.”

Jason stares at him again, hard. Tim is starting to get uncomfortable by the amount of times he’s gotten Jason to shut up.

Finally, the older man throws his gaze at the stars, gives out a long sigh and releases a breathy laugh that sounds a little too much on the manic side.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “I guess we have an agreement, then?”

Tim looks up at the sky too, wonders what Jason was looking for in the cloudy skies of Gotham. “I guess we do.”


	2. just a room full of my safest sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gets a visit from some of his favorite people.
> 
> (He means this in the most sarcastic way, obviously.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say... lmao I'm so very sorry for the late update? That doesn't even cover it, I know. Uni is a bitch and I couldn't write anything because of finals? Nah. I'm just. Shitty at updating. Honestly, this chapter passed like a fucking kidney stone I can't even.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is pretty hopeless and shitty. I just. I had to write Jason. I need you guys to know what my Jason is like.
> 
> A big, massive thank you to [pissedofsandwich](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedofsandwich/pseuds/pissedofsandwich/works) for helping me (basically writing) with the sex scene (yes, there is a sex scene). God knows I can't write a sex scene to save my life. If any of you guys like Yuri On Ice you should definitely check out her fics, they're awesome.

“I personally don’t like the idea that a higher power controls what I can and can’t do. Who I can and can’t love,” the Pretender lays down word per word as if they’re conviction, surprising Jason even more with how much this little boy has _changed_. “I thought that out of all the people in the world, you’d understand a thing or two about making your own destiny,” he finishes. There are a lot of emotions in his voice. Too much. Jason can’t pick apart what they are.

Tim stands tall in front of him, the twinkling light of the city against him. Things that Jason’s red haze of crazy hid before making themselves apparent tonight. The seriousness in the pull of his shoulders, the harshness in the set of his jaws. Jason studies him carefully, notices how the air around the boy has shifted significantly. It doesn’t feel like _Robin_ anymore. There is less doubt in him. There’s still the same amount of defiance in the way he holds himself, but there’s an edge to it. Something dark and dangerous, something _painful_.

It feels like Batman’s, Jason’s not sure who would win if they go toe-to-toe this time.

Jason looks up at the sky, he feels like a joke. He internally curses whatever deity up there who decided that his life wasn’t worth shit and decided to fuck with it. He lets out a laugh, knows how crazy it must have sounded to the Pretender.

Tim’s words repeat themselves in his brain.

_I thought that out of all the people in the world, you’d understand a thing or two about making your own destiny._

He does.

“You’re right,” he says, if Tim is surprised that Jason’s agreeing with him, he can’t see it. “I guess we have an agreement, then?” Jason offers.

This time it’s the Replacement’s turn to stare up at the sky.

“I guess we do,” he replies.

-

“How did it go, Jaybird?”

Jason grunts as he rummages through their sad excuse of a fridge, he throws away a box of take-out that looks like it’s starting to mold on the inside. He makes a face when he reaches the back of the fridge and finds nothing.

“Didn’t you go shopping on your way here?” Jason asks.

“Yep, for pizza,” Roy chirps from the couch, lifting a piece of the pie so Jason can see.

They’d agreed to rendezvous back at the safehouse after Jason’s little meeting earlier. Roy was _supposed_ to go shopping for fresh food. Jason’s getting sick from the amount of junk food he’d been eating lately. Besides, after the meeting Jason feels antsy. The anxiousness is back, making him feel like he needs to move and just _do_ something. He wants to cook, get his hands busy and his mind blank.

But evidently, Roy didn’t buy him the groceries he’d needed so he grabs his pack of cigarettes from the counter and hikes up the fire escape to the roof. Jason taps the pack on his thigh, leaning back against the bricked wall, waiting for the sun to rise.

He lights up a stick, taking a long drag from it. Gotham may be a shit city, the smog is fucking unbelievable, but if the weather is good and the angle is right, it looks really pretty at sunrise. The sky gets a beautiful red-orange tinge that Jason has never really managed to find anywhere else in the world. It has that feeling of a fresh start after a late night. Or a grand ending, a red curtain that falls after a good show.

“All the world’s a stage,” he murmurs to himself, exhaling a cloud of smoke, watches it curl in the air like the swirls of black ink on his body.

“And all the men and women are merely players,” Roy chirps in, pulling himself up on the ratty railings. “Or some shit like that.”

Jason gives Roy a grin. “Well, well, look who’s the genius now.”

Roy waggles his eyebrows at him. “Aw, it’s still you Jaybird, don’t worry.” He settles beside Jason, bumping their shoulders together. “I take it the meeting went south, then?”

“Honestly? Fuck it if I know,” Jason laughs, shakes his head. “It went as well as it could have, I guess.”

Roy hums. “You’ll get there eventually, Jay. Don’t stress about it.”

“I can’t believe those words are coming out your mouth and I’m on the receiving end of them,” Jason sighs, blows smoke in the air.

“Eh.” Roy shrugs. “Can’t always have what you want.” He takes Jason’s cigarette butt, throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

After years of friendship, Jason’s surprised that he’s still surprised. “The fuck, Harper.”

“I’m going, Lian is waiting for me,” he says, checking his phone. “And I’m going to hug you but I don’t want to smell like smoke, so.” He puts his phone back to his jeans pocket, grinning cheekily, and pulls Jason into a hug.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jason mutters as he returns the hug, “ _I_ still smell like smoke.”

-

Jason didn’t use to believe in soulmarks.

For him, it didn’t matter.

Food mattered. Shelter. How to get his mom sober enough to face Child Protection Services.

It never really mattered, when he was Robin. Flying mattered more, how to make Bruce proud of him mattered more. Patrols. Books.

After he died, revenge mattered. _Bruce_ still mattered. The Joker. Staying sane. How to rid this world of as much scumbags as he could.

(Besides, Jason was too busy listening to the little voice inside his head that told him he wasn’t worth a soulmark. He’s damaged goods. People who can’t be saved don’t deserve soulmates.)

But once, only once, did he see a display of the power of matching soulmarks.

And it was his own.

-

Jason leaps and jumps over the roofs of Crime Alley as if it was his playground. In some ways, it _is_. There’s a reason why he chose to set up shop in the one place Bruce would never look for. It _was_ his home, before Bruce caught him stealing the tires of the batmobile oh so long ago. In this place he’d fought, begged, lied, cheated, before he ever tasted the feeling of _real_ fighting.

A little way ahead he could make out the distinct slope of the Hamilton building. An old architecture that looks like it might crumble with a poke. Some people call it doomed, Jason chooses to call it home. He opens a hatch beside the rooftop door, revealing a glowing keyboard underneath. He punches in the key code and the ancient-looking roof door opens with a hiss.

“Hello, house,” he greets the sparsely decorated space, taking off his helmet with a sigh. He shrugs off his leather jacket and removes his guns from their holsters, methodically counting the bullets and cleaning the guns, until an alarm on the computer screen stops his routine midway.

_Intruder alert._

Somebody, or _something_ has set off the motion sensors on the roof. Jason grabs his loaded gun and—making sure he’s still got his domino on—pries open the window, going to the roof through the side stairs. He cocks his gun midway. Hey you’ll never know, the intruder might be a really big cat or Batman himself, Jason is not taking any chances.

He hauls himself over the ledge silently, the intruder is facing the door, away from him.

A glance of the bright yellow cape gave the identity of the intruder immediately.

“Bat brat,” Jason calls out, lowering his gun and presses the safety clip, but keeping it in his hand nonetheless.

Damian Wayne in all his Robin glory turns around. Jason narrowly dodges a batarang from lopping his ear off.

He steps forward, grabs Robin’s arm and twists it backwards, pushing the boy forward, pressing him cheek first to the wall.

Robin thrashes against him, Jason grabs his other arm too and pins it to the door.

He clucks his tongue. “Kids these days.”

“Unhand me at once!” Damian barks.

“Heh. Not in a million years, kiddo.”

“Todd! Unhand me!”

“Now, now, don’t they teach you Pleases and Thank Yous in schools anymore? Education sure changed a lot since I died.”

The moment the words leave his throat, Jason is grabbed by the shoulders and yanked backwards. His attacker plants a knee on his back, effectively keeping him down. But Jason isn’t called the Red Hood for nothing, he bucks up, and using his whole weight, manages to flip the position around. He lands a punch on his assailant’s face.

And then Jason stops, fist poised midair.

“I would stop there if I were you.”

Robin, it seems, has gotten his bearings. The gleam of his blade is only inches away from Jason’s face.

His assailant, still on the ground, reverses their position again, and Jason finds himself sniffing dust.

“Be good, Hood,” his assailant hisses.

“You must be proud of yourself for having thought that one up,” Jason sneers. “Let me go Goldie, before this gets ugly.”

Nightwing presses his knee harder against Jason’s back. “You’re in no position to give out threats,” he reminds him sternly. “What business do you have with Red Robin?”

“Straight to the chase as always, aren’t ya?”

Nighwting gives his arm another twist.

“Ouch! Hey! If I promise to be on my best behavior can we at least _pretend_ to be civilized people?”

“You can talk,” Nightwing growls in his ear. “Or you can _talk_.”

Jason is slightly offended that Dick thinks he could scare Jason like that. Jason mock-sighs. “Alright, alright.”

“Answer the question, _Todd,”_ Robin spits out his name like it’s venom.

Jason grins. “Nothing, he and I just had a little conversation about life, is all.”

Nightwing hauls him to his feet and presses him up against the wall.

“Whoa, whoa,” Jason wheezes out, “If you wanted to cop a feel, all you gotta do was ask, hot stuff.”

Nightwing scowls, banging Jason against the wall again. For all that he’s shorter than Jason, Dick sure as hell packs a punch.

“Answer me!” he orders.

Jason stares at the whites of Nightwing’s domino. “Why should I?” he asks, tilts his head. “Why do you care?”

Nightwing bares his teeth. “Are you being serious right now?”

Jason grips Nightwing’s arms. “Dead serious,” he answers. “Why do you care? Didn’t you ditch the kid?” Jason glances at Damian, who’s standing a little way away, feet braced, katana brandished in one hand.

Nightwing follows his eyes, it was a moment Jason could’ve taken for himself, he could’ve wrestled free from Dick’s grip. But that’s not why he’s still here, he’s still got a point to prove.

Nightwing snaps his attention back to Jason. “That’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” Jason smirks. “Being the ditched-and-replaced-Robin is kind of my thing, wouldn’t you say?”

Nightwing opens his mouth, but Jason beats him to the punch. “I heard what happened from Roy,” he starts. “You’re no better than me. You left him when he needed you the most. _You_ have no right to demand to know what’s going on between your precious _little brother_ and me,” Jason says, “not when he doesn’t tell you. Not when he won’t tell you himself.”

 _Not when he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you himself._ Jason doesn’t say, doesn’t have to.

The silence stretches for a beat before slowly, Nightwing reluctantly lets him go. Jason goes for his gun.

“Nightwing! What are you doing!” Robin yells.

Nightwing stops him with one small flick of his wrist. Jason remembers that, that’s Bruce’s move, _be silent_.

“Enough, Robin.”

“But—“

“ _Enough._ ”

Jason has to laugh at that. “Oh man, never thought I’d see _that_ move again after all these years.” He wipes a faux tear away from his eyes, raises his gun. “Now get the fuck off my roof before I blow your heads off.”

Nightwing gives him one last look and jumps off the building with a flourish. Damian, however, doesn’t move.

“Well, kid?” Jason points his gun at Robin’s head.

“This is not over, _Todd.”_

Jason grins. “Sure, tater-tots.” And watches the yellow cape flying with a laugh.

-

Surprisingly, after the new shitstorm of a dynamic duo that is Nightwing and the new Robin, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Tim is staring down at him. He's wearing nothing but a pair of old, ratty jeans and a white t-shirt. The lamp glares down unforgivingly at them, creating a broken halo around his jet black hair--he'd slept with the lights on again, guess he know now the reason why he couldn't sleep soundly, aside from the nightmares.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Jason asks. Tim shifts to sit on his thighs, and that's when Jason becomes acutely aware that they are on his bed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Tim asks.

"Alright, smartass," Jason says. "I thought we made a deal."

"It's a stupid deal," Tim declares—never mind the fact that he was the one who wanted that deal, fucking pretender—before he yanks Jason up by his shirt to kiss him on the mouth.

Jason, god fucking knows what the fuck is wrong with him, kisses him back. Tim doesn't waste time with chaste, closed-mouth kisses—he opens his mouth and forces Jason's open with his tongue, licking the inside of his mouth with a roughness he reserves for criminals. Jason brings his hands to Tim's wrists but the pretender beats him to it, pushes him back down on the bed. Jason knows he has the equal power to reverse the position, he can reassert his dominance and makes Tim take it, but he lets Tim do what he wants. What are the chances that Tim will initiate things with him? Yeah, Jason's lying if he says he hasn't noticed how good-looking Tim is.

Tim braces both hands on Jason's hips, kicking Jason's legs open and slotting himself in between. Jason leans up, holding himself by his elbows—and yeah, this is the stuff wet dreams are made of. Tim's eyes are dark as he meets Jason's eyes, and shifts his vision to the bulge in Jason's pants. Maintaining eye-contact, he grinds down, agonizingly slow, and Jason groans, feeling Tim getting harder. Jason reaches for Tim's neck and kisses him, because he can and because he wants to. He feels like a damn teenager, all of seventeen and horny beyond belief, dry-humping in a shitty club that doesn't check for ID. Tim breaks off the kiss to bite down Jason's neck. Jason spares two seconds to consider pulling away, thinking about the marks Tim will leave—Roy is going to be so smug, and realizes he doesn't really care.

It's too much without being nearly enough, the friction of Tim grinding down on him combined with the slide between their jeans, Jason wants more and terrifies himself with how much he wants it. Tim bounces down and Jason drives himself up, meeting him halfway.

"You're going to make me feel like a damn high schooler," Jason says, "coming untouched like this."

Tim stills, and Jason almost whines at the sudden absence of friction. Tim pushes himself off the bed, not too far, just enough room to take off his shirt. Jason sits up, because if the replacement is taking his clothes off in front of him then he may as well just watch.

Jason stares at the expanse of unmarred skin in front on him. No scars, no marks.

That should've been the first sign.

"Then we gotta do something to fix that, should we?" Tim kneels on the edge of the bed and braces his hands underneath Jason's thighs, and all but yanks him forward so his crotch is eye-level with Tim's eyes. Deft fingers unzip his fly open, pulls down his underwear just so that the head of his cock peeks out. Tim looks at it like it's a prize, and pulls his cock out with his right hand, his left hand pushing his knee further apart.

The second sign is that the pads of Tim's fingers are soft, and Jason knows because he feels it rubbing the head of his cock, slick from the pre-come already dripping.

Tim starts moving his hand up and down repetitively, slowly, like Jason's an experiment he doesn't want to ruin. Then, something wet-hot envelops Jason, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck—“ he gasps, grabbing a fistful of Tim's head and pushing him closer. Tim's pretty mouth is stretched around his cock, so pink and swollen already from all the kissing, and he comes when Tim's fingers reach that spot behind his balls.

Weirdly, he doesn't get that sleepy-boneless sensation post-orgasm.

"Shit," he says, realizing dawning on him, "This is a dream, isn't it."

Tim, who pulled off a little too late, has a strip of come dripping down his neck. His skin is missing the black swirling of ink that Jason recognizes on his own body.

Dream-Tim smiles, saccharine sweet. "Yes, yes it is."

Jason wakes up to an alarm blaring somewhere in the distance. He reaches out for it, fumbles with the snooze button before finally getting it to shut up.

He also wakes up with an erection, credit to the dream he’s just had. Jason doesn’t have a problem with the dream. He’s lusted after people before, and dreams are nice when they’re not nightmares. But it sort of becomes repetitive when he’s been having dreams about the same fucking person for _two fucking weeks_ in a row.

His room is still dark, sunlight only peeking through the slits on the blinds. Jason’s blanket migrated downwards to his legs no doubt five minutes after he fell asleep. He puts a hand on himself, and takes a deep breath. He summons the Dream-Tim to his imagination. What would it be like? If Dream-Tim got the chance to continue. Tim’s mouth must be hot, warm. He’d be good at it, wouldn’t he? He would, because this is Jason’s fantasy. He’d tease, because Jason knows all Robins to be terrible teases. Would he touch himself while getting Jason off? Maybe. He’d be on his knees, cheeks full, a hand on himself.

Would Tim let Jason fuck his throat?

Jason groans at the image, quickening his pace. He’s so close, so close now.

Tim would be moaning as Jason fuck him. Moaning and touching himself, yes, just like _that_. The vibrations would  be _crazy_.

And when he’s close, Tim would close his eyes, they’d be full of tears, and Jason would come, getting it on Tim’s face, and his swollen lips.

“ _Fuck!”_ Jason comes, all over his hand, making a mess out of himself, biting into his fist to stifle the sound.

-

The informant told Jason that he would find what he’s looking for at midnight.

So Jason is here, 72nd Avenue, five minutes to midnight. Just in time to see the moon hang over the tallest building in Gotham, painting some objects with light and covering others with shadows. The night wind tosses his hair about; he’s lost count over how many times he’s had to move it from covering his eyes. His helmet lays unused next to him. Jason doesn’t usually go without it; especially not in Gotham. But something’s gotten into him tonight. He’s pretty sure this peculiar deviation from form will bite him in the ass later, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s so close to wrapping up this case.

Jason’s been following a trail of dead children for the past few months. He found bodies, crudely dismembered and stuffed in hidden places that Jason wouldn’t have discovered if he weren’t looking for those places to stash his weapons in. First in Chicago, then New York, then California. He’s unearthed a large human trafficking ring that spans the entire country. But to kill the snake you have to cut off its head. The head is, of course, in Gotham. It’s half the reason he’s in this God-forsaken city in the first place.

The other half is probably on the other side of town luring out criminal masterminds with his amazing hair.

Before he could process his own thought, Jason’s target exits the restaurant precisely as his timer goes off, the red numbers on the screen of his analogue watch blinking at him.

Somewhere in Chicago a grandfather clock strikes eleven. A warehouse in the slums explodes.

A bartender glances at her watch, she thinks about moving from Brooklyn to East Side to be closer to work, she doesn’t notice the orphanage ten blocks away shake and begin to break apart.

A priest in Orange County kneels down to pray for the homeless children that’s been missing off the streets. Five miles from the church, an empty building catches on fire.

In the rooftop next to Wayne Tower, Gotham, a sniper hides in the shadows. A bullet goes through his target’s head. Red paints the sidewalk. He takes a moment to make sure his target is dead before pulling away from his gun.

Jason exhales, rolls back his shoulders and packs his gear. His job here is done.

-

A finished case means a new case.

A new case always means either too little information, or too much. Jason stares at the computer in front of him, crunching away numbers and files with astonishing speed.

A finished case means a new case; a new case means some free time.

In all two of his lives, Jason never did like free time. It leaves him with room to think, and when one thinks one begins to _feel_ , and that’s the last thing he needs right now. So Jason shrugs on a shirt, not giving the tattoo on his body a second thought, before pulling on his usual leather jacket over it. He gets out of his safehouse. He doesn’t decide on a particular destination; he trusts his feet to carry him wherever. He slugs through the crowd with a nonchalant air. These people do not care for his existence; nor does he theirs. That’s another thing he loves about Gotham. Anonymity.

Jason begins to pay attention to his path when he’s nearing a rundown coffee shop that has definitely seen better days. He walks in and surveys the place. The place is empty, well-lit, cozy, old. It could use a hand, or a hundred. He walks up to the counter and gives the person behind it his most charming smile.

“Hello,” Jason starts.

“Morning darlin’,” the woman drawls, returns his smile with a show of her white teeth. She’s wearing a dress and a fake tan browner than the coffee stains on her apron. “What can I get ‘cha?”

Jason makes a show of perusing the overhead menu. “Just a cup of coffee for me, thanks,” he pauses, reads the name on her tag, “Maureen.”

“Sure thing, love.” She winks at him.

Jason settles on a secluded corner of the shop with a cup of steaming, black coffee and a free bagel. He sits facing the doorway, with a clear view of the bathroom and the back door.

_Always keep your eyes on all possible exits._

He eyes the Chinese restaurant across the street and wonders what kind of shady back deals happen on the second floor of the building. Probably a lot. In this part of Gotham, he’s not surprised if there’s a murder going on behind those fogged windows right now.

Jason pulls out a paperback from his jacket pocket, immediately flipping to a dog-eared page. He’s got hours to waste, he’d better start now.

-

“I’m telling you, I don’t _need_ new curtains, and that’s that.”

“And I’m telling _you_ , purple everything _always_ works.”

“It’s not a matter of working or not. I just don’t _need_ one.”

“Purple is nice.”

“See? Cass agrees.”

“That’s not _fair_ , Cass always agrees with you.”

Jason looks up at the rowdy bunch of stranger shoving each other through the door. The lady barista welcomes the crowd with a fond look.

“Why hi there, Steph, what can I get ‘cha and yer fine friends today?”

“Maureen! Can I get a cup of black coffee please?” A blonde girl with blue eyes and a smile that screams of _Adderall_ chirps at Maureen.

Next to her, a Chinese girl with jet-black hair and dark eyes stands. For a split second, her eyes flit to Jason, so fast that Jason isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or not. Her stare sends a chill down Jason’s spine. He suddenly feels vulnerable, stripped open and read like an open book.

“Black coffee,” the girl states pleasantly. She doesn’t look at Jason again, but his eyes are glued to her. There is something about the way that girl carries herself that triggers warning bells in Jason’s head, he can’t help but try to calculate her every movement.

“Um. Do you serve lattes? Can I get one with an extra shot? Thank you.” Jason’s eyes move to the last member of the party. Beside the Chinese girl with the bob-cut is Tim, in jeans and a hoodie, his hair tied. He’s leaning on the counter, his slender fingers rapping a short rhythm on the wood.

The sight of Tim makes Jason’s heart stops. It aches. His blood rushes to his head, makes him spin. Makes him unable to tear his eyes away. Hell breaks loose in his chest and sends a wave of longing biting every inch of his body. His fingers itch to touch Tim, to tuck back the strand of hair that escaped his little ponytail. His hands need to _touch,_ feel, map. Jason needs every inch of Tim’s skin. Jason needs his warmth. Jason needs _Tim._

Jason is taken aback by the onslaught of sensations. He draws in a quiet, startled breath.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath.

The girl with the sharp eyes hears it. She looks at him from the corner of her eyes.

Tim squints his eyes at the girl. “Cass?” He tilts his head and follows her gaze—until it meets Jason’s.

Tim’s eyes widen fractionally; electricity crackles between them.

Tim grips the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white. He catches the girl’s arm and whispers something to her. The girl—Cass—looks at Jason, really looks at him this time, scrutinizing. Jason sends her a salute and a smirk. Tim’s lips thin and he jerks his head to the side.

_Outside._

He follows Tim outside, to the dirty alleyway behind the shop. Not one second after, he finds himself on his back, staring at Tim’s face framed by the grey skies of Gotham city.

“What are you doing here?” Tim spits out, his knee on either side of Jason’s arms. Tim’s eyes are something fierce. They’re icy blue in the daylight; almost white even.

Jason forces himself not to be mesmerized by them. He flashes Tim with a cocky smile. “Getting coffee, obviously.”

“Answer me, Jason, or I swear to God—“ He can feel Tim’s warmth through his clothes, so in contrast with the chill from the pavement underneath him that it seems to seep into his core. Spreading with every beat of his heart like poison coursing through his veins. The dream comes slithering back to Jason’s mind. He does his best to ignore it, to ignore the resemblance of their position.

“You’ll what? Beat the crap out of me for reading in a coffee shop?” Tim smells of sandalwood and soap. It makes him heady. He tries not to inhale.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Tim hisses.

“Well,” he drones. “Technically, I _was_ here first, so _you_ are the one who violated the agreement.”

Tim glowers. “I thought it meant that you get the hell out of my city. Do I have to spell it out for you? _We don’t want you here Jason._ ”

Jason feels a pang in his chest that he hasn’t felt since _Bruce_. “Your city?” He mocks, sneers. “Timmy boy, don’t get me wrong here. Gotham is _my_ city. Mine before you could even walk. I never said I was going to leave. Haven’t I been a good boy and stayed out of your way? Or was I just not good enough for you?”

Tim keeps his eyes on Jason’s. “Get out of Gotham, Jason,” he replies steadily.

“I’d watch your language if I were you,” Jason warns. “The only reason you’re still breathing after pulling this kind of stunt is because of the mark on your chest.”

Tim’s expression falls, his face becomes unreadable. The boy gets up swiftly, his back to Jason.

“You’d better not get in my sight ever again,” he says coldly.

“I’d rather die again before I do.”

Tim pushes the door to the coffee shop and lets it swing. Jason finds himself already missing Tim’s weight on his person. He laughs. “Oh man, I am so fucked.”

-

Jason wears a band on his left wrist.

It’s made out of a sturdy, stretchy material that accommodates his movements. It’s black, plain, snug, blends in with his armor.

It’s definitely meant to hide something.

-

Jason doesn’t perch. Not after his death, staying still for too long stirs some unpleasant memories in his brain. He chooses to move when he can. He does stakeouts, of course. But he’s not the type of creepy that Bruce is, he can’t stay under the shadows for too long.

He perches now, though, on what used to be his favorite gargoyle in the part of the city that is supposedly forbidden for him to enter. To say he can’t help it an overstatement. He _can_ help it; he doesn’t have to be here waiting for the Pretender to pass by.

(He pulled the info of Tim’s patrol route tonight out of the data Babs had so generously let him gleaned out. He left her a little gift on her window sill for all that she’s done for him.)

He chooses to be here.

The air is cool even in July, the summers in Goham are marked with winds and rains instead of suns. He fingers the band on his left wrist for lack of anything to do. Jason watches the city, closes his eyes, tries to sort out the clamor from below.

The problem with the Pretender is that he gives people too much chance. He should not have let Jason walked out of that first meeting alive.

Jason is aware of how much the Bat bunch hates him, especially Tim. He’s aware of his past sins and offences. And as much as he’d love to atone for them, he doesn’t think any of those under Bruce’s wing would extend even a millimeter of a branch to him.

Not that he’s eager to, his method is—in his opinion—the only way to purge the devils out of Gotham. Even if it means becoming one in the end.

He sees a flash of red and retreats into the darkness. Tim swings by, cape bellowing behind him. Time slows and Jason is again struck with the same onslaught of sensations he felt at the coffee shop.

He shakes his head.

This attraction that he feels, it isn’t entirely unwelcomed, but it does make a lot of things complicated. Jason crouches down. His feelings for the—for Tim has changed. A lot.

Jason’s hatred towards Tim doesn’t burn anymore. In fact, it sort of doesn’t exist anymore. He doesn’t hate the kid; he wasn’t even a blimp in Jason’s radar. Not until a few months ago.

He’d been focused on something else. Roy and Kory. They’re his world. They made living matter again, they put the colors back in, the music, everything. They put the flame out and started a new one. The evidence of how important they are is etched under the black band. He remembers the day it showed up, how his had presented itself the last out of the three of them. He thought that with this soulmark it could be the same too.

Jason sighs. He should have known than to chase after something so perfectly out of reach. If he’s being honest he doesn’t know what he wants to do with the kid. He wants to fuck him, probably. But he knows _that’s_ not happening. He can at least honor the kid’s wishes (and spite the fucking universe while he’s at it, too, for giving Jason a taste of what he can’t have) and stay well out of his way.

It’s a simple task. Gotham is a big city. How hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. any of you guys know any good feminist literature? I've read the handmaid's tale and the color purple. They're amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Did ya hate it? Did ya like it? Let me know with a comment below! :D 
> 
> Visit me on my [tumblr](http://popoyoy11.tumblr.com/)  
> or check out my [DC sideblog](http://sneakytimmytime.tumblr.com/)


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